Ditto: A BC Story
by cumberblue
Summary: A little story about Benedict Cumberbatch meeting a girl. Contains fluff. I know it's not related to Sherlock but I didn't know what category to put it in. Sorry. My first ever fanfic, so I would be very grateful for feedback. As a reader, you are slightly indebted to me anyway. Hope you enjoy it! I'm on twitter: @cumberblue
1. Chapter 1

"Hmph," I lugged myself out of bed as my alarm rang, not bothering to switch it off. I undressed myself, turned the shower on, and breathed as the cold water spattered and ran over my body, goosebumps appearing on the base of my back. Ten minutes later, I was still unconscious. I opened the bathroom door to find my alarm clock still ringing, which brought me into the _wonderful _world of consciousness.

"Come on Ayla, we don't want to be late!" My elder sister's voice rang through the door.

"Yes, yes, I'm nearly done," I replied. I dried my hair and quickly chose the randomest things to wear. Luckily, my sister insists on high-end brands, which all look pretty good together. I don't argue, it's not something I really consider important. I grab a book, my mobile and my purse, and head downstairs, nearly tripping over the laces of my high tops.

"Can't you put on some makeup?" my sister grabs my cheekbones as soon as I enter the kitchen.

"The short answer is no. I don't really know how and why I should put it on,"

"Okay. Well we haven't got much time now anyway. Eat this," she hands me an apple.

"No than-"

"No arguments."

"Fine. I'll eat it on the way."

We arrive at work in a black cab. My sister proudly opens the door and with her head held high, walks around the car and I have no option but to do the same. Except I don't bother with the posture, and she pats her hand on my back to encourage me to straighten up.

"Do it for me. Just for today."

"Why? Whats so specific about 'today'?"

"I've got a treat for you. We're going to a fundraiser party tonight!" she beams, and I mirror her beautiful face. She notices, pleased, and I frown again.

"Oh, that's cool," I try not to look phased by this. She smirks, seeing right through me. Sometimes I think my sister to be a bit dumb, but she does get me. So I don't mind her other more frustrating perks.

"What are you going to wear?" the conversation goes on like this for a while.

**13 HOURS LATER**

I stand on a stool, on my toes, chewing my thumb. Directly in front of me is a wardrobe, packed with unworn dresses and freshly pressed shirts.

_Oh shit_, I think to myself. I jump off the stool and look at the month's selection of fashion magazines my sister attempts to get me to read. I scan the pages, trying to find something that I recognise from the clothes I have.

_Trainers! Those purple and green… _my thought drifts as I realise that it would probably be unacceptable to wear trainers to a party, where there will probably be designers. _It could probably be seen as quirky… a new trend… Ayla, don't even go there. _

After a couple more minutes I find a familiar green dress in the 'fresh funness' section of a £4.20 magazine. I get frustrated at how people pay that amount of money to read bad grammar and sentences that don't even make sense, but quickly turn my attention back to dressing. I grab the dress from the wardrobe, and quickly search the small print in the article to find the label: "Fendi". I check the dress's label. Yep, this is the dress.

I walk downstairs, making effort with two layers of mascara and gemmed Fendi flats with weird eyes fastened on them – I think that this is pretty 'out there' – and cross my fingers.

"You forgot your bag."

"Oh yeah wait a se-"

"Make sure it's Fendi. If a magazine asks for your outfit labels you wanna make sure you remember them."

"Oh okay yep-"

"By the way, you look pretty hot,"

"I would say 'ditto', but you look beautiful, as always big sis,"

"Thanks rascal. Now get your bag," God she is so cool. Cooler than Alexa Chung cool.

We arrive at the venue in my brother-in-law's chauffeur-driven Range Rover. There are about ten photographers, but I would have expected more. I nearly trip as we enter, me being as clumsy as I am, but my brother-in-law steadys me with his hand.

"Watch yourself Ayla," and he laughs. I manage a smile, knowing inside that they wouldn't put me in the magazines – I'm just a non-existent 17-year-old girl.

I check my bag: yep, lipbalm, mobile (loaded with audiobooks – I know that I couldn't bring an actual book to a party like this), headphones and a few Werther's Originals (because catered food doesn't always fix sugar cravings).

I take a deep breath and we exit the small hallway we just passed through.

_Holy crap, _I think to myself, and my sister can see it on my face. _This is amazing._

Blue lights streamed everywhere, and massive circular tables with various crockery and decorations planted on them, a huge stage and dancefloor.

After dinner - which I had to eat because it was so good (!)- I was nudged up onto the dancefloor. All night I had seen various celebrities take their turns on the stage, and talk about funny moments of their life or serious issues do to with the charity. My in-law made a great speech: he had practiced jokes with me beforehand, but didn't use them anyway, probably because I didn't laugh (but that's because I don't laugh at much, even if it is funny).

So I was nervous. I cannot dance if I had to save the entire world from an apocalypse. I didn't want anyone famous to think I was an idiot. And imagine if a slow song came on? Now that would be humiliating.

I moved to the very edge of the dancefloor, eyeing anyone that would be of importance to not see me trip over and face plant.

Elton John… move away.

Kate Moss… definite move away.

James Corden… he might be okay. So I moved behind where James Corden was waltzing with this woman, and I started twirling about. Okay, so I had a few ballet lessons, and spinning around isn't the problem for me. It's just the stopping. So I immediately regretted what I had just begun, and went into a bit of a flux. What the hell was I going to do now? _Okay, Ayla, just stop. Just attempt to stop. Breathe in and… _I was falling. And someone caught me.

THANK YOU GOD. THANK YOU.

I turned around to see a pretty… um... shall we say good-looking face? 6"4, about 30, 32 ish… _Stop Ayla. Just stop. Say thanks to this guy who is staring at you, holding you in his (quite muscular) arms. _

"Umm… thanks," I said. I stood and straightened myself up, trying to regain my stature and cool.

"No problem." He spoke. My eyes widened. _Wow. Okay, don't let yourself be attracted to a man that's quite considerably older than you. You only fall in love with fictional characters, remember? Stop that._

"Nice to meet you, I'm Ben." He held out a hand, and I looked for mine. _Nope, wrong hand. It's the other hand._

"Ditto, I'm Ayla." _Why the hell did I say ditto? Oh god he's going to think I'm an uneducated freak. _He laughs, like he's reading my thoughts.

"So, want to get off the dancefloor? Too many opportunities to trip."

"Sure." _Yes, he's definitely reading my thoughts. _

We head to a vacant table, and a waiter arrives with dirty plates in his hands, leaving quickly when he recognises Ben. He brings out a chair for me, and I jump. I hope that he didn't notice.

"Thanks," I remember to be grateful for things tonight, surprisingly. My sister looks over at me and smirks, and I see flashes of her face inbetween tens of others, as she dances and laughs gracefully with her husband. I smile, and the attention is brought back to Ben and me as he restarts the conversation.

"So, what are you doing here tonight?"

"I'm here with my sister and her husband. I guess I'm just eating dinner and trying to fit in and dance."

"Funny. I'm here to do the same."

"So… I've never really seen you before. What do you do?" He laughs heartily.

"I'm an actor. What do you do?" Modest.

I rack my brain, attempting to tell the truth without looking like a complete fool. "I study. I read books. I play music. Right now I'm working at Penguin." Not so modest. _Well done_ Ayla.

"Wow. That's impressive. How old are you?"

"I am sixteen, going on seventeen… no, I'm seventeen. I used to be able to sing that, and I miss it." He laughs and stares into my eyes. I look away, but bring the contact back. It feels like he's touching my face, my arms, my neck, my hair, as he passes his gaze over me.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you're astonishingly beautiful." I blush. Great, now I'm red to the face because someone complimented me. Get a grip.

"Thank you…" _What shall I say? Arghhh why is this so hard? "_Ditto." _NO NO NO ANYTHING BUT THAT! _He laughs. I blush deeper.

_"_So, what do you want to be when you grow up? Oh, why am I even saying that? You've already got the dream job!" His skin catches the blue light, and the moment feels perfect.

"I don't know. I'm… going with the flow. I know that I want to make the world a better place. I know that I want to stop deforestation from increasing."

"I don't have a doubt that you will." I smile, but only his smile fills the room. He's perfect. This moment is perfect.

"Tell me a film I might have seen you in." I try to distract myself. No one should stare at someone as much as I've stared at Ben tonight.

"I haven't been in many, I prefer theatre. My latest one is Hawking. You may have seen that."

"Oh, my dad was telling me to watch that. It was on the television two nights ago, wasn't it? But I didn't watch it – I was studying."

"Well, I urge you to watch it." He smiles, and the edges of his eyes crease, and I feel like I want to cry. He's imperfectionless.

"It's done. What plays have you been in?"

The conversation continued for what was hours but felt like minutes. More people were leaving, and the waiter came to remove the sheets from the table. My older sister was still dancing, and old, classic songs were played and improvised by the jazz band. The blue lights were still cascading among the walls, and my green dress shimmered in the light. I tugged at it, and peered at the eyes fastened onto my shoes, that stared at me through the gap between my legs.

Ben and me sat eating Werther's Originals for a while longer, talking about childhood, funny jokes, the future, the afterlife and various other topics, until the night was closing in. Ben tapped at the napkin trapped underneath his hand.

He saw my sister finish dancing, and pulled out a blue fountain pen, writing smoothly on the white material.

We stood up, and the tall, slender man placed the ink-stained napkin into my hands. He tilted his head, picked up my cupped hands, and kissed them.

His lips were gentle and soft, and yet they left a burning feeling on my knuckles. I blushed at the cheekbones. To my surprise, so did he. He bowed, and slipped away, whispering "Goodnight" so faintly I could barely hear the notes of his bass voice.

The note read: "W12 EJR. Write to me"

**Benedict's POV**

Today I woke up and headed to the kitchen to watch television in my dressing gown. I flicked through the channels, finding nothing of interest, but settling for the news. Then I grabbed my journal from the kitchen counter, and smoothed my hand across the leather cover. I opened the string sealing my schedule, and flicked out my blue fountain pen.

Tonight at 10 o'clock I have a charity event. _Do I have a suit ready? Yep. Do I need anything else? Nope. Okay, well today is going to be boring. _

After getting dressed, I hailed a cab in the direction of Marylebone High Street. Thankfully, the streets are relatively empty – hopefully I won't get much attention.

I walk into Waitrose and buy the regular things: chicken, fish, vegetables, rice, juices etc. and head to Daunt's with a full shopping bag. _God, I have too many books. Why do I always feel like I need more?_

On the way in, I see a middle-aged woman. Small, freckled, brown-haired. She smiles at me, and I smile back, though I don't think with equal levels of enthusiasm. She recognised me. I greet Greg behind the counter, who is folding cotton bags.

Over in the history section, I sit in an armchair and pick up a random book someone has left behind. 'The Full Guide to The Vietnam War', the title reads. _Already read it_, I mutter to myself, yet I flip the page anyway.

**13 HOURS LATER**

I step into the shower and hit my smallest toe on the glass door. _Ow_, I complain. I run the water through my hair, and I feel the strands curling. Shampoo lathers, water rinses. I relax, my body tension lifts and I don't feel anything. I inhale, I exhale, air flowing through me.

I stare into the mirror and rummage the thick, rough towel amongst my hair. _Too many curls_, I think to myself. I grab the comb from the side of the sink and comb through the knots I've just created.

_Tie… tie… tie…_ I look everywhere, rummaging around irrelevant drawers and under the bed. _A ha!_ I exclaim. _Found it._

Arriving at parties is the worst thing. Every single one of the photographers shouting: "Benedict! Over here, Benedict!" "One more shot!" My smile is hurting my cheeks now. I step inside, thanking bodyguards with a look.

_Wow, this is nicer than I expected it to be._ People are just settling down for the beginning of the evening, gentlemen opening chairs for others. I greet some directors and friends, and scour the scene for my table. I want to sit down as soon as possible. Yep, that's my table. I see JJ sitting, making people laugh with a story I've already heard.

"Good evening, Ben," JJ stands up to shake my hand. Others greet me in a chorus of "nice to meet you, I'm…"'s or "You're Benedict! I love your work"'s. They don't stand up. I sit, straightening my back as I do so. I delve into conversation, but let JJ continue.

After a while, I get tired of holiday tales or celebrity meetings. I've had dinner, and I want to do something else. I scour the scene again, looking for anything interesting.

I see the regulars: Kate Moss, Elton John, Richard Jones, Tracey Emin… not interesting. I see what could be hilarious dancing, but I'm not amused. In the corner, behind James Corden and Julia Roberts, I see a young woman, twirling and smiling. She wears a green dress, which reflects the light slightly. Her dirty blonde hair swings around her neck, a beautiful, slender sculpture, replicating the rest of her body.

It looks like she's been spinning for a while now, and she starts to fall. I quickly excuse myself, but no one notices. I dash over to the girl, and before I know it my arms have cradled her waist. It feels like a lifetime before she turns her head to see my face. Her eyes widen slightly, and I'm mesmerised.

_Her face is beautiful. It fits her._ I trace my line of sight across the curves and ridges of her jaw and cheekbones, her eyebrows, her bright green eyes matching her dress, and her full, rose lips. Her eyes dart back and forth across my face, and I can almost see the cogs in her brain spinning.

I can see her struggling to make out words.

"Umm… thanks," her voice, deep but high, unique, radiates to my ears.

"No problem," I try not to seem threatening. There's a long pause.

I do what I do best, outstretching a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Ben."

"Ditto, I'm Ayla." I laugh at her shyness. Wow, a unique name to fit an extraordinary girl.

"So want to get off the dancefloor?" I look for a reason to talk to her. "Too many opportunities to trip." _Good, fits the context, good._

"Sure," her voices sounds like velvet. I walk her over to my table, now empty. We sit, and I see her glance over at Richard Johnson's wife. Ayla smiles, and her eyes lit up. She's perfect.

I keep the conversation. "So, what are you doing here tonight?"

"I'm here with my sister and her husband." So that's where she gets her looks from. "I guess I'm just eating dinner and trying to fit in and dance." Straightforward.

"Funny. I'm here to do the same."

"So… I've never really seen you before." Her confidence is building. "What do you do?" Surprising. I don't think I've met anyone that doesn't know who I am for a while.

"I'm an actor. What about you?"

"I study. I read books. I play music. I'm working at Penguin right now." Jesus. This girl must be early twenties, mid-twenties at the most. I hadn't got anywhere at her age.

"That's impressive. How old are you?" I look at her dress and into her eyes again. Magical.

"I am sixteen, going on seventeen… no, I'm seventeen. I used to be able to sing that, and I miss it." I laugh at her outburst of song. _The Sound Of Music. _She must play.

Her lips curl into a smile so pretty it must hurt. My eyes unconsciously dart down to her arms, beautifully shaped. Her collarbone cuts through my eyes, and I realise that looking at her up close is so much more satisfying that from far away. She notices the trail my eyes leave, and begins to blush.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you're astonishingly beautiful." Her cheeks deepen in colour, and somehow she's even more mesmerising.

"Thank you… ditto." I laugh at her repetitive phrase. I want to change conversation – obviously she's not comfortable. God Ben, you're so selfish.

"So, what do you want to be when you grow up?" She is grown up you idiot."Oh, why am I even saying that? You've already got the dream job!" She thinks I'm a moronic, invading bastard. Yep, I've ruined it.

She smiles again, and my worries melt away.

Hours later, she looks into her bag for something. Her eyebrows furrow, and her face is still perfect. I don't think I've ever seen someone intimidatingly beautiful. She looks up at me, and thinks for a moment. I wait impatiently, wanting her to talk.

"Werther's?" she sings, handing out a golden-wrapped sweet.

"Who could say no?" Her confidence rises again, and she smiles. Truly smiles. Her eyes light up and she pops the toffee into my hand. Our fingers touch, and I realise how warm my hands are, as her cold, delicate hand briefly skims mine.

Then she laughs. My heart rate elevates, and I thank the gods of fate that we're in a considerably loud party rather than a totally silent room, where she could probably hear it.

After a while, I notice more and more people leaving. A few walk past my chair to greet me, but others leave Ayla and I alone to converse. I glance over at her sister mid-conversation, and she seems tired. I turn back to Ayla, who seems bright and more than awake. She's _living_. Anyway, that means I'll have little time left with her.

She notices my tapping before I do, her eyes and voice drifting off in the midst of a sentence. I look down at the cotton napkin beneath my clumsy fingers, and my eyes dart back to her sister. Finished dancing. I have just about enough time. Ayla's smile fades. She realises too. I grab my pen from my shirt pocket and scribble on the napkin, writing quickly so I can do it in time.

I place it into her hands as we stand, and I look into her eyes again. She's still not smiling. I lift her hands up to my bowed head, meeting halfway. My burning lips meet the base of her fingers, and I place a long, soft kiss upon them. She blushes, still looking into my eyes and on my face, and I feel my cheeks heating.

I'm embarrassed, so I bow and walk away, still gazing into her eyes as I greet her.

I never wanted this kind of evening to end like this.


	2. Chapter 2

Every spare moment, I think of that night. The way he looked at me. It's not the same when other boys look at me. And even the boys at my school stopped doing that a while ago, before I lost weight.

I've written to him, and he's written back, beautifully. We talk about our days and the things we've thought about. We write every day, or try to. He can leave England for months and months at a time, and then life gets dull like it did before.

I don't think it's the kind of friendship that phone numbers and email addresses can be involved in. It's different with us. I think that's why he gave me his postcode, not his digits. I hope he likes me as much as I admire him.

I watched Hawking the week we met. And yes, he was being too modest. I couldn't believe that someone could portray such a challenging role. I adore Hawking, I grew up with my father's admiration for him, and it makes me adore and want Benedict even more so.

We suit each other so well, and he's opened me up without realising it. I think… I think I might have opened him up too. And I've noticed how big of a star he is. The girls at school talk about him a lot, but obviously I haven't told them anything. They gossip about him in a slightly obsessive way, and I know I shouldn't, but I feel like I'm obliged to protect him. But I can't. There are millions of girls out there that do the same, and I can't stop them. I talked to Benedict about his fans, and he loves them, honestly, but sometimes he wants freedom. He's afraid of becoming another Hollywood 'hunk'. I told him that no matter how hard people try, he could never be one of them. He's too different, too talented, and too perfect.

**Benedict's POV**

Ayla. I've anagrammed her name, written it unconsciously on emails and scripts, spoken it too many times. I miss her, you could say. I know I miss that night.

I said that she looked so much more perfectly imperfect up close. Now I don't even get to see her far away. I'm starting to forget what she looks like, and I don't like it.

My fame is rising, more than ever before. More paparazzi, more fans camouflaged in my favourite spots of London, more cameras flashing. I've got three films this year. I'm busy. I thought I liked being busy, but I need some time. Even my showers aren't relaxing anymore.

That night was perfect. Each day from then got more and more dark. And everyone's worried about me, it's a constant murmur in the back of my head, a chorus of "Are you okay today, Ben?", "Want to talk Benedict?" No is the short answer.

We still keep in touch, her and I. She's always sending me letters, her handwriting decorating the plain, brown envelopes she sends me. She finds odd stamps with elephants or television show characters adjorned on them. It makes me laugh, reminding me of that evening filled with laughter.

I send her as many letters as I can in return. Her life seems bleak, like mine. Maybe she needs me like I need her. Maybe not.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been 7 years since that night. My sister's sent me to a therapist, once a month, not as often as when I was losing weight. I'm trying to get over it, and I think I'm making progress.

I bought my own flat a few months ago, after I finished my master's degree. I'd been saving up for a while. I like it. It's small compared to my sister's house, but it's close to them. It's close to my favourite places.

Right now I'm working at The Guardian, and I've got six articles in since I started last December. I like everyone there, but it's tough to keep up. I like being at home, and cycling around London.

Last week I rode past the place where the party was. Two black doors, closed and bolted. Like it never happened in reality, like it happened in a dream.

We haven't sent each other letters for years now. He stopped when he was filming, and I sent him several after, but he never replied. Maybe he moved away, to America, and became a Hollywood 'hunk'. I'll never believe it, but it seems like he's starting to become like those people. I see it in the newspapers. But I also see him at premieres with a woman. A beautiful woman, dressed perfectly, timeless and modern at the same time. They look great together, and she's only a few years younger than him. I'm almost 12 years younger than him – it would have never worked. His fanbase is bigger than I ever imagined it could be, and he's keeping a happy face, like he did before the letters stopped. I remember him telling me that he never wanted to change because of fame, and I'm not sure if he's kept that promise to himself.

I still miss him. But I'm trying to stop. I can do it.

**Benedict's POV**

I don't know what to say to you. We haven't spoken in over 3 years. How am I supposed to carry on with my life? She was taking it over with her splendor, my desire to have her.

I've found someone else now. She's good for me, and the press. My PR says she's good for the press. She lives with me, or rather I live with her. We stay at her house, and my clothes and my furniture and my CD's are slowly making their way to the other side of Central London. She likes this lifestyle. The busy-ness, the late-night parties, the afterparties, the premieres, the red carpet, the constant travelling…

I don't think she understands how much work I have to put it to keep it going though. It doesn't feel like a rise to fame, it feels like a struggle to keep the jobs coming. She's setting up a company, and she's going to ask me to invest in it soon. She keeps mentioning finances, money, hopeless investors that have have ulterior motives. She's testing me, and I really don't like it.

And the fanbase is attacking her - she likes to subtly blame me because of it. I have to be cautious with what I say around her and in public, and where I go and what time of day I go more than ever. It's hard, this lifestyle, when you don't have many people supporting you. I loved her at the start, but she's just making my life miserable.

I never loved her as much as the girl in the green dress.


	4. Chapter 4

My sister's taking me out to a club tonight. No, it's not a normal nightclub. It's a private club where people drink and dance, but they are more formal and it's not immature or somewhere where you can act idiotic. She's hoping to find a man for me there, because she thinks I'm ready to get into a serious relationship.

"I've never been in a relationship, let alone a serious one," I argue.

"That's because you've always been so mature that you didn't want to fool around like I did," she says, but we both know it's because I was so unsociable and clumsy. Men would look at me, talk with me, and get bored. It's because none of them interested me, they were all the same person.

We step into a taxi, and I nearly trip because I'm focusing on trying to look down at my eyeliner.

"Careful Ayla!" she holds out her hand and we laugh.

"Thank you Nathalie, my darling," I imitate.

"You are most certainly welcome, my darling," she strains her voice, attempting to make it elaborately posher. Our laughter cascades and echoes in my brain and the taxi drives off onto the main roads of London.

**Benedict's POV**

I need to relax. Nothing's working anymore.

She undresses, and as I glance up from the newspaper I'm reading, I notice that she's waiting for me to look. She crawls onto the bed, her hair in sharp curls that she's sprayed with product. I can smell it, and it's unpleasant. I can also smell the perfume she's wearing. Metallic, almost. Artificial, strong alcohol. She lies down beside me, looking into my eyes. I ignore her, and she tugs onto my arm.

"Ben, darling, we haven't in so long,"

I say nothing.

She sighs dramatically, and tugs at my t-shirt.

I ignore her attention-seeking strategies. She waits for half a minute.

"What's wrong with you, Ben?" she looks me in the eye and sits up. "Why are you being such a fucking tool?" My brows furrow, and I look up at her, frowning.

She steps off the bed and grabs her robe, quickly pulling it on.

"Come on! I want to know what's up with you! Why don't you want to be with me?"

"Because," she is surprised by my reply, "…because it's not love Giselle. You don't love me, and I don't love you." She looks desperate. "This is a waste of time." I'm surprised she doesn't fight me as I stuff my clothes into a suitcase, not caring if my suits crease. I'm surprised she doesn't stop me as I close the bedroom door, and walk down the stairs. I'm surprised she doesn't hear the door close, and the taxi pull up outside her house.

"Benedict! Wait!" It's too late. I've left, and I continue reading Ayla's article on deforestation.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up in a different bed. I hate this. My first one night stand and already I hate sleeping with men that don't care about me. I'm not that kind of girl. I look up and see stag horns and extravagant paintings framed with sculptured gold. Nice one, Ayla. Choosing the loaded ones.

I'm glad I don't remember last night. I don't even look underneath the covers to see his face, and I look away from the photo frames dotted around the house.

I walk down the flights of stairs in the same dishevelled clothes as I wore the night before, quickly taking paracetamol to ease the headache and stomach pain.

A taxi is hailed and a long, regretful journey is taken.

I close my door behind me and breathe a sigh of relief, heading straight for the bathroom to throw up.

**Benedict's POV**

The week after our breakup, the press is still not 'in-the-know'. I'm grateful for that, I guess. And I'm relieved that it's over. I just can't believe I wasted so many years staying with someone that I don't like being with anymore.

Desperation to see her or hear from her is overwhelming me. I'm shaking and stirring. I can't do anything.

**TWO HOURS LATER **

I'm going to head to Daunt's. It's the only place I can attempt regain my sanity.

**Ayla's POV**

Thank God the pain is over. I am never doing that again, ever. I'll either find a serious guy or just die alone.

I played the piano today, but that got boring after an hour or so. So I went to my bedroom, and searched for a book. But I've read every one so many times I'm sick.

Maybe it'll be good for me to invest in some new fictional men.

**Greg's POV**

_It's now 10 o'clock and the bookshop is still relatively empty. Yay._

_"Hey, Greg. How's it going?" Ayla and her denim dungarees, not a care in the world._

_"Working in a bookshop is the definition of living life. How about you?"_

_"I'm in need of some action slash cheesiness slash saving a helpless city, please Greg."_

_"Sure thing. The Roaring Twenties American classic superhero novels are situated in the lonely, nerdy corner downstairs." She laughs her iconic laugh._

_"Thanks, Greg." She skips down the corridor, fake happiness exeding her._

_It's now 11 o'clock and three quarters of the bookmarks are stocked into the counter for distribution. _

_"Good morning Gregory." Benedict enters with a fedora and sunglasses. _

_"Morning,"_

_"Bookmarks I see. I've run out, I'm afraid."_

_"The thing is, Ben, you have to buy a book to receive a complimentary piece of shit-card?"_

_"Challenge accepted."_

**Ayla's POV**

Ah, there's nothing like home and a book to delight the imagination. Yay, the original Batman. Go, the underdeveloped Joker. I laugh, and it echoes the empty, wooden space around me.

**Benedict's POV**

I'm so glad I'm here now. My days have been too long and too boring. Daunt's is my own brand of heroine. I flick through the World History stalls, and hear a familiar laugh radiating through the walls. I flick it out of my mind and continue to search for something unread and unboring.

There it sounds again. I search through the known maze that is the Classics section, and turn a corner to find a dirty blonde bun and baggy denim underneath a comic book-style novella.

It's her.

Taller, tanned, and still skinny. Her perfect, once kissed hands wrapped gently around a moving book.

**Ayla's POV**

I hear loud, leather shoes sounding against the hollow wooden floor. I ignore it, and focus on the car chase between Joker and Batman, the Batmobile a small, black car with a simple yellow bat upon its front panel. I laugh again.

The sound comes closer, intimidating and invading my private space.

It stops, and I look up slowly, my eyes peering above the thin pages.

It can't be him.

Tall, muscular, ginger hair. His collar on his white shirt creased slightly like it was on… the night.

**Benedict's POV**

"Hello?" her voice sounds, and I jump slightly. I quickly regain my composure, and clear my throat.

"Good morning,"

"It's not you." I'm surprised. I thought she would have forgotten me. She rises off her armchair and carries the book in her right hand. I stare at it.

"Who do you-" she cuts me off, placing a finger to my lips.

"Do you have any idea what you put me through?"

"Of course I-"

"No you don't." She laughs. "You really don't. You are such an idiot."

"I know I-"

"You didn't respond. I… I… thought we had a promise. To write back. You _said_ to 'write to [you]'. You wrote it on the napkin."

"I know I-"

"Shut up. Are you still with her?" I shake my head. "Shut up."

"I didn't say any-"

Before I knew it, she had dropped the comic, her arms are around my neck and my arms are around her waist. When our lips touch, my head is overwhelmed so much that it hurts. Stars shoot in and out around us, and I can't hear anything.

Everything comes flooding back. My desire for her. Her smell, her hair, her touch. It felt like no other kiss, or experience for that matter, that I had ever had in my life. It was better than that night. And my life was perfect again. I knew I had her. She was mine and I was hers.


	6. Chapter 6

Our lips parted and a small tear rolled down from his right eye. I searched his eyes for explanation, but he just stared back. I watched his eyes look over my body again, the same way he did on that night. He reached down to my neckbone, and the backs of his fingers skimmed over the edges. He brought the tips of his fingers up the side of my neck, along my jawline, over my cheekbone, and around the back of my head, gently pushing us closer. He kissed my lips like he did to my hand on that night, gentle and long, and it felt like he loved me.

"Let me take you out to dinner tonight." I nodded, it was still his turn to speak. "Here's my number…" he wrote out in blue ink on a bookmark, and placed it in my dungaree pocket.

"Thank you." I stepped on the edge of my toes to reach for his forehead, and I planted a peck in the middle of the space between his eyebrows. He smiled, and I bent over to pick up the book and tiptoed out upstairs.

**9 HOURS LATER**

My doorbell rings and I rush down the narrow stairs of my flat, nearly forgetting my bag as I glide past the coathanger. I open the door so quickly that I thought it would fall off its hinges.

"Hello!" I exclaim excitedly, feeling a beaming smile on my face.

"Good evening, Ayla," he says in his perfect bass voice. I look behind him to see a black cab. He turns around after closing the door, and holds my lower back, his hands searing through my dress.

**Benedicts POV**

I stare at her looking out of the cab window, gazing at the familiar sights.

"What are we going to do…?" she smiles.

"Guess." I want her to play.

"How many guesses do I have?"

"Three."

"Okay… well we're heading to the Thames, North Bank. You've dressed up nicely, but not too nicely…" she states, looking over my blue shirt with no tie. I blush, but I don't think she notices.

"We're going to the Globe, aren't we?" she smirks.

"I could never fool you, could I?" She laughs her unmistakable laugh.

**Ayla's POV**

"That was great," I say.

"It was. The best first date I've ever been on,"

"Ditto. I'm glad you didn't take me to see Romeo and Juliet."

"Oh, that was sold out, so I booked the Merchant of Venice instead." I laugh.

His eccentric ginger hair almost reflects the streetlights. I can see his eyes staring at me again, scanning me and what feels like every cell in my body. I blush. So does he.

We arrive at his house, and I tiptoe up the steps, him showing me the way. This is the kind of house I always dreamed of. A proper, London house, like in the Peter Pan film. A house with long, tall windows to let the light in, and an old fireplace or two to bring the building warmth. I notice a room dedicated to music and books. The biggest room in the house, it has to be. He's so perfect.

I keep stopping at each door, eager to touch him, but it seems his bedroom is at the highest floor – he keeps walking behind me, laughing as I look back at him.

Then, after what feels like forever, he stops and picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I begin to kiss his hair and his cheeks as he navigates himself into the room and onto the bed. He sets me down gently, unbuttoning his shirt. I kneel up, helping him, and he finds my lips. I begin to unzip my dress, and he places his hands on my hips, working his way around me. I unfasten his belt.

"We shouldn't be doing this. It's our first date,"

"I don't care. This is right."


	7. Chapter 7

**Benedict's POV**

This is incredible. The girl of my dreams is in my bedroom. Touching me, undressing me. Her body is more beautiful than I had ever imagined, what her dress allows the outside to see. And I can't get enough of her. One second that our lips are apart feels like I've been stabbed in the heart. I unfasten her bra, and slide off her underwear. She slips off my boxers, and we lay down, on top of one another.

She moans as I move my mouth to the side of her neck, her jaw, her collarbone, her shoulder, making my way down to her fingertips and across to her hip. I can feel odd indents in her skin here, and she shivers. I ignore it, planting more kisses along her stomach and up to her breasts. I can feel the indents here too, but she's distracted. She pulls my head up to her lips, and they meet again. I don't want to stop.

This was supposed to happen. Me and Her. Together.

**Ayla's POV**

It's morning, and the light filters in through the windows. Sheets cover Ben and I, and I notice that we're holding each other. He's smiling in his sleep. I smile back to him, like he could see me in his dreams.

I never want this to end. I know what love feels like, for the first time in my life, and it's so powerful. He inhales and exhales loudly, and I laugh.

Oh shit, I've woken him.

He opens one eye and smiles until the creases next to his eyes are beautifully defined. He grabs me unexpectedly during our stares, and I giggle, and his lips are right where they should be. I don't get enough from him, yet he leaves my lips and moves down my body like he usually does. I'm enjoying it, so I don't remember until he says:

"What are these?" He asks, referring to my scars, collated in specific parts of my body.

"Stretch marks," I blush, but out of pure embarrassment.

"You were… you lost weight?"

His words linger in the air. "Yes. I'm… I'm sorry." Water begins to form in my eyes. "Don't look at me, it's…I…" I struggle to get out from underneath him, but then he lets go, and I tuck myself away under the covers.

"Don't. Just don't." I hear his soothing voice, pulling my hair gently out of the duvet cocoon. "You are so beautiful."

"No I'm not! I'm not beautiful whatsoever! I'm full of rips and tears and I honestly don't deserve you. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't you understand, Ayla?"

I turn to look at his face, I feel as if I need to. "I love you. I love you so incredibly much. Do you know what I felt when I first saw you at that party?" I shake my head, looking down in regret. "Like I had just laid eyes on an angel, a fucking goddess. Don't think that you can do that to people. Just tiptoe onto the dancefloor in a dress that exactly matches the colour of your eyes, and hair that flows all around you.

"You can't look even more beautiful when you get closer up, because I was scared to look at you from a mile away let alone a couple of centimetres! Do you know the looks I got from men as I walked away, leaving you helpless with a stupid postcode and not taking you home?"

The muscles in his face tense, angry and upset. "Do you know what it felt like to think about you and that night every day for seven years, and not have the guts to write to you and ask you out to dinner? To see your face in the newspapers and the words of a prodigy, a woman not letting anything in her way and following her dreams no matter what the might threaten to prevent her from doing so? I felt like a complete failure compared to you.

"And when I walk down the street or the red carpet several times a week, I see thousands of screaming girls, and I swear, I never see one that even compares to you." His voice calmed down now, and he breathed deeply. "When I saw your hair put into a bun, popping up from a superhero novella, my world stopped again. I found it hard to believe you were really there. And you walked up, fucking beautiful with no crap on your face, and kissed me, right there and then, and I swore to myself I would never stop loving you, even if you decided to stop loving me. You'll never know what it's like to completely fall in love with you, and not be able to stop." His eyebrows relax. "I fell in love with you and your scars." He leaned down to my hips, and kissed every tear in my skin. He kissed every centimetre of my body, and I lost track of time.

**Benedict's POV**

We woke up a few hours later, about midday, to the sound of my stomach impatiently grumbling.

"Want some breakfast, Benedict?" I look over to see an angel, who just happens to be sitting naked in my bed.

"Don't worry about it. I want to stay here with you,"

"No, let's make something. It'll be fun," her smile is contagious. She lifts herself up and walks, her back to me. I instinctively reach my arm out to bring her back, but she's already too far away. She picks up a robe, covering her body, and I grimace. I follow her as she exits.

"What do you want to make?" I wrap my arms around her, and she pushes her head back into my collarbone.

"Pancakes. I'm going to make you pancakes," I kiss her cheek, and begin looking in my cupboards for ingredients.

"Put on some music," I suggest, gesturing to the speaker. I see her skip over in the corner of my eye.

"Ooh, Billie Holiday, The Cure, Alt-J…" I smirk, listening to her flick through CD's. "How about The Beatles and my favourite album, the marvellous Revolver?" I laugh in approval.

There we are, eating pancakes together, flour on our hands, 'Good Day Sunshine' playing in the background. This could only be perfect with her.

**Ayla's POV**

We step into the shower, already our lips latched on to one another. He turns on the water, and I feel his muscles relax. For an arbitrary reason, I begin to laugh, and he kisses the corners of my mouth and my chin.

"Stop," I blurt out.

"Stop what?" his voice bounces off the glass.

"Stop being so amazing,"

"Hypocritical." I sigh, looking down at his body. Volts pass through my nerves, and I begin to get dizzy. My hand finds itself outlining the contours of muscle and bone, and he doesn't flinch like I would. I look up at him, and he's smiling. I can't believe someone like him would feel that way about me.

"I love you," we say, almost in harmony.

It's cold when we step out of the steam, and he cloaks himself around me, both of us in a large dressing gown. I begin to clothe myself in the underwear I wore the night before, reminding me of how long ago our first date was, and how close tomorrow is.

"When is the right time to ask me to leave?" I ask, looking down at the floor.

His face is genuinely surprised.

"Never. I want to you stay forever." I laugh.

"But I've got work tomorrow. And one set of clothes. A flat to return to."

"Can't you stay here, for a week? For a trial run." He pleads, and I don't know how to interpret that comment. 'Trial run.'

"I have no clothes. I need to get something-"

"Of course, of course. You'll be back tonight?"

"On one condition. I'll stay here on one condition." He nods eagerly. "At the end of the week, if you haven't gone mad over my lunacy, you come with me to meet my sister and her husband. Formally."

"I'll do whatever. I can't keep away from you."

Unexpectedly, he grabs my waist, pulling me into him, like we were about to dance. He puts his finger to his lips, and points in the direction of 'Here, There and Everywhere' playing softly from the kitchen. He bends over, and I drop like they do in films.

I realise that I've never danced with anyone before. We twirl and spin, the world blurring around us. He looks comically posh, head held high and shoulders back so far I didn't think it was possible. We laugh and sing along to the words, half-dressed. The sun shines through the high windows, and the song ends. He bows to me, and I curtsey, holding an imaginary skirt.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ayla's POV**

The taxi ride home was empty and quiet. I felt lonely, like I was missing something important. So I phoned my sister to arrange a quick coffee.

I step through my door and my smell came flooding back. I smell the clothes I'm currently wearing, and find Benedict's scent.

Now comes the time for a release of energy. I run up the stairs, and whizzed through the hallway, jumping onto my bed and screaming.

"HOLY SHIT, I JUST HAD MY FIRST DATE!" I squealed, looking up to the ceiling. "MY FIRST DATE WAS WITH FREAKING BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH!" This continued for a while, until I realised that I had to get dressed to meet my sister.

"Hello my poppet! I've missed you!" My sister, smiling, watches me walk towards the café, her arms open wide.

"I've missed you too, (for the two days that I haven't seen you)" She laughs.

"So, what's new? Why did you want to talk?"

"Well…" I smiled in thought of him. "I went out the day after and I met… a friend from the past."

"Oooh ooh!" she sings.

"Anyway, I want you and David to meet him. He's wonderful, he is, but I needed to introduce you to him. He's wonderful,"

"Yep, you said that already," she winks. "When, where, how?"

"I was thinking next week…end. Sunday? A restaurant of your choosing. Whenever you're free I guess."

"Great! I'm looking forward to it!"

"So am I."

I get back home and start to pack my things. I choose my nicest suitcase, and pack with my essentials. Toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, hairbands, face wash, mascara (in case he takes me somewhere where it's unacceptable not to wear some kind of makeup), jeans, skirts, tops, socks, jumpers, a dress or two, and some old lingerie. I might have time to head down to a lingerie store and buy something new. It's a special occasion!

So I head out with a piece of small luggage and a shoulder bag, towards the direction of Bond Street, where I know several boutiques are delegated. I pop into Victoria's Secret, which is way too neon-tacky for me, Louis Vuitton, too rosy and lacy, and finally Chanel. The home of classicism.

I walk out with a black bag containing a couple of items, which I tried on in the large, highly decorated dressing rooms, and I think suit me, and look pretty but not too over the top. I breathe, because my trip to hell is over.

**Benedict's POV**

I've been anxiously waiting for her return. Steve popped over to discuss final amendments to the genius new series of Sherlock, but even that only lasted a couple of hours. It was fairly awkward for me: he spotted that I've had a new girl over because of her scent still lingering around the house. He asked when I'd tell my PR manager, so that they can attempt find ways to spread the news gently to the world. I don't want to bring her into this, I can feel that she's going to get hurt, but I also don't want her out of my life.

What could she have been doing for this long? I roll my thumbs over and don't even bother trying to focus on the television anymore. So I pick up my journal from beside me, looking at the week ahead of us.

Congratulations Ben, you picked a week full of interviews and photoshoots. I guess what's done is done, but I'm still annoyed at myself. My days finish at around 4 most times, but I spot some early rises. I don't want to leave her in bed by herself.

The door rings, and I nearly trip over the table legs to answer the door.

"Hello again," I lean against the frame of the door, my legs crossed over, trying to make myself look more attractive. She laughs. That attempt failed.

"Hello Ben," her voice brightens up my world again. "May I come in?"

"You may," I gesture to the inside of my house and take her bag. Surprisingly light.

"I'm glad you're home," I call after her.

"I'm glad you're glad." She strokes my cheekbone and sighs, smiling.

"I'll just take this upstairs and I'll be back down in a moment."

"Okay," her eyes dart back to the living room.

"Choose any film you'd like to," I request. She peers over my movie collection, undecided.

"You know what? I believe it's your turn to choose something. Show me a good film."

"Of course, Ayla." She smiles, her perfect teeth brightening through. "Now… what's a good film…"

"Not Titanic. Not Titanic."

"I don't even own Titanic." I point out.

"My respect for you has increased substantially."

"How about The Fifth Estate? I got a copy after it was edited."

"Great, I followed the whole WikiLeaks scandal from beginning to end."

"Great." The impressiveness of this girl never stops.

I mutter a line or two, under my breath.

"Does it take a lot of time, you know, for you to learn your lines and learn to act them in a certain way?" I pause the film. "I know you must have heard his before a thousand times, but I wanted to hear it firsthand."

"Yes. It's like memorising all of the dialogue for one character in a book, and having to interpret your own imagination as well incorporating the rest of the crew and cast's imaginations into it.

It's easier to have secondhand opinions before I get onto the set, so I get a rough idea of what other people might feel the scene will play out.

It was especially hard with this film, because reputations from very famous and judged people were riding on my performance and my reactions to other people's performances. I had to take Assange's personal view and try to see into his perspective, and he's a genius. So yeah, it took a lot of time."

"Incredible," she whispers, almost silently.

I play the film again, and her attention focuses completely onto the screen. I, however, rethink over what just happened.

"What's incredible?" I'm curious. I pause the film again.

"Huh? Oh, your explanations are incredible. They… they make me see life in a completely different way. I could never do that."

"Prove it. Explain something to me."

"Like what?" I shuffle around to face her, buying time to think of a topic that is both clever and personal to her.

"Like why you gave me a second chance." She looked at me, her face suddenly serious.

But then she laughs. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No… I guess it's not."

"We both loved that night. I don't know about you, but it was the best night of my life."

"Last night wasn't?" I joke.

"Sssh! Don't interrupt. Anyway, that night was the best night of my life. I was dancing, trying to fit in with the crowd, and me being me, I don't know how to stop." I laugh. "So I keep spinning, searching for possible solutions that would prevent me from humiliating myself in front of a room of amazing people. And I start falling. But just seconds after I start to slip, I feel the ground. But it's not the ground. It's someone's arms. It's your arms. I look up and see a wonderful, unbelievable face. It's smiling down at me, and I risk standing up, not knowing if I would fall down again. You opened me up that night, Ben. You brought me into a new, positive world, where I could dare to stand on my own two feet and be independent. I jumped from a publishing house to a national, respected newspaper, because of you.

"And yes, you left me for seven years. I was upset, and things got bad again, but I could try to stand up once more. I carried on with my life, and even though I was in pain and I couldn't see a way out, I knew that if I kept trying to get back up again eventually I would stop falling.

"I gave you a second chance, mainly because I needed you back in my life and I loved you, and I knew that loving someone else was not possible, but also because you changed my life with one night. No one could have done that for me, and I give other people second chances without a second thought. I can never repay my debts to you, and giving you my love was and is an instinct, a necessity and a small repayment all at the same time. Convenient."

I kiss her, and lift her legs onto my waist. The film will have to wait.

Jesus. 4:30 and I have to head out for a photoshoot with 'The Lady.' I've only slept 4 hours. The makeup artists will have to spend a bit of time with me.

I feel incredibly guilty for just leaving her in bed to sleep cold, for hours until her alarm rings. The first night, Benedict. You idiot.

I write her a note:

"Good morning.

I'm sorry for leaving you this way. I have a day-long photoshoot/interview and I had to leave early.

I'll make it up to you. We'll do whatever you want later, to spend as much time together as possible.

I miss you already, and I'm writing beside you.

I love you…

B x"

I hope that's enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ayla's POV**

I smile as I wake up for the second time in two days. Stretching my arms out, I reach for him, his warmth and his affection. The space beside me is empty. This was all a dream, wasn't it? A long, beautiful dream. I open my eyes, and I'm still in his house. Thank God. But he really isn't there. I start to panic, and soon realise how stupidly I'm acting. He's probably downstairs. I inhale and exhale, dragging oxygen into my lungs and forcing it around my body.

I get up and put on a dressing gown, wondering around the house. Searching for explanations in my head. I go down to the bookroom, and find a white piece of card painted with blue ink. It's from him. I rush over to the wooden table, and scan the words, not forming proper sentences.

Oh. He's gone to work. That reminds me… work.

What time is it? I search the walls for a clock. Aha! Found one. 7:15. Thank you, the gods of timekeeping.

I shower, dress and pack my bag for a day's work.

"Good morning, Ayla!" Harriet calls across my office, as I sit myself in my chair.

"Morning,"

"How are you on this fine day?" I look out of my glass wall, overlooking the city, and see pouring water and black umbrellas lining the street.

"How are you, Harriet?" I deliberately ignore her question.

"Great thank you. Just wanted to let you know, Mr E has sent me to see you."

"Why didn't he call? He loves to make people work unnecessarily, doesn't he?"

"That's the guy we all know and love. Come on," I follow her out of the frosted glass doors, and we make the journey to my editor's office. We both look at each other before knocking gently, and he shouts for us to enter.

"Harriet, would you take these documents to Brian for me?" Harriet rolls her eyes subtly. "Thank you." She glides out of the room, and I turn back to see what is about to happen.

"Sit down, Ayla." I sit. "So I read your articles the other day…"

Of course you did, you're the editor. "… and they were… on the verge of genius." Wow. Can we just witness the fact that my boss just – God forbid – complimented me? "I want you to have a column. In this newspaper. Regular columns. People are talking about you like you're a prodigy. I wouldn't go that far –" Of course not. "- but it does mean good sales."

"Well, I'm lost for words. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, you'll stick with us… won't you?"

"Yes." I chose my answer carefully, ensuring that I didn't promise him.

"Good. Now, write me your weekly column, Miss Quentinson."

**Benedict's POV**

I arrive back home, and I can smell her so clearly. My agent's coming over in a few minutes, and I decide to tidy up. But looking around the house, she's already done it for me. Wow.

The doorbell rings, and I look up to the ceiling like I'm looking up at her, and thank her under my breath.

Pete sets his cup of tea on the granite worktop.

"I've… got a new girlfriend,"

Pete nearly spits out a mouthful of tea. "You what?" He wipes his mouth with his thumb. "You just left the other one!"

"I know. But I swear it's so different this time. And we've known each other for a long time."

"Alright…" his eyes are still skeptical. "What do you want to do?"

"That's why I need your advice. I don't want her to get hurt, but at the same time I want to lay the news down gently." Pete laughs.

"Well, I'll try my best. But we need to wait a while. Quite a while."

"Sure. Anything to make this easier."

"We could just do the classic backstreet scenario. Less public-"

"-But more dishonest and hurtful for both of us."

"Interview? Radio? TV? Magazine?"

"Sounds better, but it needs to a big, trustworthy company. Even though it's coming from my mouth, people will be doubtful."

"Alright. I'll have words… And I'll get back to you before I contact them."

"You're amazing, Pete." We get up and I shake his hand with two hands, smiling.

"Only for you, Ben."


	10. Chapter 10

**Benedict's POV**

**3 HOURS LATER**

The doorbell rings. I need to get her a set of keys.

I open the door, and pull her in, kick the door shut with my foot and simultaneously bring her lips to mine.

"Hello again," she whispers in a break.

"Hello." She yawns, and I lift her legs and carry her in my arms, walking up the stairs. She buries her head inbetween my chin and my shoulder, kissing my neck. Her scent is so concentrated now that I get butterflies in the bottom of my stomach.

"I'm sorry for leaving you this morning,"

"What are you talking about… it wasn't your fault." If her head wasn't adjacent to my ear right now, I probably wouldn't be able to make out what she was saying.

"The first night you were home, and I left you,"

"I would've had to leave early anyway. Stop blaming yourself for things that weren't your fault." I smile, and I start to walk up another flight of stairs.

"Stop." I stop, mid-step. "I want to hear you play," she says, referring to the grand piano in the musicroom.

"Are you sure?"

"Please." I turn around, and I can hear her lips curl up into a smile against my neck. I lay her down on the brown leather sofa, but she's having none of it. She stands up and walks right past me, and elegantly sits on the right side of the piano stool. I follow after her, not so elegantly sitting down next to her.

"What's your favourite?" she asks.

"I love so many."

"Pick any piece then," and my hands automatically find their way to the keys.

**Ayla's POV**

I watch his face in concentration mode, his teeth biting down on his lips. He's so perfect I want to prance about the room. He sets his fingers upon the keys, and I hear the soles of his shoes upon the pedals.

He plays a glissando so elegantly; I could have thought it was played on a harp. And then he enters into Tchaikovsky. How perfect can this man be? I ask him to play, and he plays my favourite composer of all time. Meditation, by Tchaikovsky. I have no words. His fingers touch the keys so gently, so precisely. I don't deserve him. A multi-talented, intelligent, beautiful, kind man. Life has blessed me, to even spend a weekend with him. I should be more than grateful, but I just want to have him for the rest of my life.

I just don't believe that he's in love. With me, of all people.

He finishes, and smiles, the creases in the corners of his eyes deep and beautiful. I find tears falling down my cheek and my neck. He kisses them away, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

I take his hand, and lead him to the sofa. I sit on his lap, my legs around his waist, and take his hair in my hands, pulling my head towards his.

Our lips meet, and a thousand glissandos play at once.

In the morning, we find ourselves lying together on the sofa, our faces just inches apart.

His eyes look into mine, darting from side to side. He takes a section of my hair and wraps it around his finger, looking at all of the little strands. I examine his face, smooth and tight around his bones.

"Your hair's golden,"

"No, it's brown with little blonde highlights,"

"No, it's golden. When I first met you, I called it dirty blonde in my mind. But the light's shining on it now, and it's golden."

Silence fills the room for a moment.

"What did you do yesterday?"

"I had a photoshoot and an interview. And the my agent came over."

"And… What did you talk about?"

"How to tell the world about you." I look down. "I want to be able to take you places, travel the globe with you. I need to tell the world in the right way, the best way."

"I understand. So… what does he think is the best way?" I want to protect him. I feel like I need to protect him.

"In an interview or something resembling that. My agent will ask the interviewer to ask that specific question, and I'll answer it honestly, but conservatively. Then the world can burst. We can hide away for a few days until it all blows over." I nod, and touch his hand, and he holds onto it. "When are we going to meet your sister?"

"Sunday. Does that mean we're going to tell them this week?"

"It depends on you. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Me?" He nods. "You're the one that has to live with it."

"You don't understand what some fans can be like. I have friends who never dare to set foot outside without security, it's that bad."

"I have faith in your fans," I interject. "They seem happy for you. But I agree, we still need to be careful. This week."

"Okay. I better phone him." He begins to get up, but stops and stays sat down. "Do you have any opinion on this? A radio or television interview, I mean?"

"Maybe radio. The word will be spread out slowly, amongst less people at first. I guess that seems like a better way to do it."

"You don't stop surprising me."


	11. Chapter 11

**Benedict's POV**

The next day, I decide to make the most of the outside and take her to Daunt's, and for a walk in Marylebone Park. We won't be able to do this for a while after the radio interview. So, we head out, her in beautiful, tight blue jeans and a light, white t-shirt, and I with sunglasses, to try and detract attention from us. It usually works.

"It's such a beautiful day. London suits the sunshine, and the rain I think. When I lived in Devon, the rain made everything horrible."

"On that night, the way you described your childhood was beautiful, but sad. I'm sorry if that offends you,"

"No, no, no. I feel the same way. I think I made my own life horrible in a way. I brought it upon myself." I couldn't deny that out of modesty. She was right.

**Greg's POV**

_I see them walk in together, looking at each other like they're each others worlds. I know how that ends. Badly. Happens in every book, and I've read a lot. _

_They're oblivious. God, I need a girlfriend. I'm just going to die alone, with a bookshop. Yep, that's something to look forward to._

_Oh God, he's holding her waist. Jesus, she's beautiful. Not hot, but like insanely uniquely and amazingly beautiful. And then he's… he's quite good-looking. I'm questioning life right now. Why don't I have this?_

_"Good afternoon Greg, how's it going?" Ben asks._

_"Great," my sarcasm perhaps a bit too strong. "How about you two?" Come on, Greg, make it seem like you are interested._

_"Superb," Ayla answers. Oh great, they're finishing each other's conversations now._

**Benedict's POV**

I can see her fascination with books. They light up her life, they always have done, right from when it all started for her.

She talks and laughs, and I can see that she's happy when she's with me. But when she reads books, she unconsciously furrows her eyebrows, concentrating intensively on the words that create another world for her to escape to.

"Stop looking at me, it's distracting," she smirks, pretending to carry on reading. I hold her waist. "Stop it, can't you see I'm trying to-" I tilt her head and plant my lips on hers, and I can feel her lips curling up into a smile beneath mine. I can't help but smile too.

"I can see you two, you know." Greg's voice calls from a distance. We continue, regardless.

**Ayla's POV**

After we leave Daunt's, Benedict puts on his sunglasses almost immediately. He reminds me of a fictional character, someone choosing the dullest days to live life normally and escape their fears. I realise now that Ben chose the sunniest day for us to take a walk, so that he wouldn't look out of place as he wore his sunglasses.

A sudden burst of wind pulls my hair out of my face, and I beam as I feel my skin shiver and my eyelashes curl up. We stop at the edge of the street, and Ben removes his hand from my waist and grips my hand, like a mother or father would do to their child.

We arrive at the park's gate, and Ben lets an old woman pass before him. I point out a finch in a willow that we pass, and he goes on about how he used to spot birds with his father as a child. I smile, his childhood memories a happy story that warms my heart.

"You need to meet my parents," he offers.

"I'd love to."

We walk past a two long fountains, enclosed by well-trimmed hedges. I pick a lavender plant, and inhale its fragrance.

"How long do you think we'll have to stay out of the public eye, after the interview is broadcast?"

"I'm not sure. It really depends on how many new fans I have gained over the last few months, and what impression they get about you from the interview. It's unpredictable."

I get curious. "What will you say?"

"The interviewer is going to say, and I quote: 'There's been a lot of commotion about you wanting children. Are you on the lookout for a new partner?' And I'll reply: 'Not anymore. I have a wonderful and supportive girlfriend, and the future is looking bright for us. I'm grateful for everyone who is a part of my life.'"

I'm not sure if Benedict has been told to say this. I realise that this is the trouble of having an actor as your boyfriend.

"Good. It sounds diplomatic."

"Thank you. I asked my agent if it was okay, and he was pleased." I smirk. This _is_ Benedict's way of saying those things to me – indirectly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Benedict's POV**

Only a few hours after the interview was broadcast, and already #benedict'sgirlfriend is trending on Twitter. I told Ayla not to read the tweets, but I took a look.

'So glad that Benedict's found someone! Let's be honest guys, we never had a chance #benedict'sgirlfriend'

'LUCKY BITCH OMF I want to be this girl I need to see this girl #benedict'sgirlfriend'

'Wht about johnlock nooooooooo #benedict'sgirlfriend'

My fans make me laugh. I'm glad nothing's abusive; Ayla doesn't need anymore of that. And no one's outside on the street, either.

It's Day 2 of Mission Keep Ayla Safe, and I got a phonecall from my agent saying that it should all be over in a couple of days. I don't think we mind.

But that's not the only phonecall I've been getting. Plenty of friends and work colleagues have all heard the news and want to meet her. I'm not sure if she'll be able to get this – things are about to get busy.

I head upstairs, and before I even set foot in the bedroom, my jaw drops. Candles are placed everywhere, in the nooks of the window and along the dressers. More luminous wax sculptures make a path to the bed, and my eyes lead up to a creature of outstanding beauty.

There lies Ayla, dressed only in black, textured underwear, laying on her side, long, slender legs resting on top of one another. Her golden hair is silky and long, dressing her back and shoulders. Her lips are painted a deep, rich rouge.

She draws me towards her, like she's magnetising me to her body. I don't resist. My knees buckle when I walk, and I begin to lose control of my mind and my body.

She pulls me up onto the bed, and lays me down, undressing me. I have no control over her or myself. She teases, kissing my neck, my jaw, my eyelids, and my mouth hungers for her lips. She gives me no satisfaction.

She stands above me, and I cannot do anything but look at her perfect, beautiful body towering above me.

I wake before her, and I hear heavy rain outside. I decide that I cannot fall back to sleep, so I turn over, my face inches away from hers. I stare at her like this for what feels like hours.


	13. Chapter 13

**Ayla's POV**

**LATER THAT WEEK**

I'm nervous, and I know that I have no reason to be. Benedict can see the change in me, the anxiety building up.

I'm brushing my teeth in the bathroom, and I shudder at his touch, but after a second relax into the strokes. I look at him in the mirror, him buttoning his shirt, staring at my face. I wipe my mouth with a tissue and begin on a few layers of mascara.

His face shows disapproval, and I redden.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm okay. Just a little nervous."

"Nervous about what?"

"My sister's reaction. She's my family, my best friend. I know she'll love you, but I can't help but worry." I turn around to face him. "You're my world now."

"I know. Everything will be fine." His smile is infectious, as always.

When we arrive, my sister and her husband are already sat. She's beautiful, and elegant. I straighten my back, suddenly aware of my disgusting posture. Benedict places his hand on the small of my back, and I relax.

Richard and Nathalie stand up to greet us, and I can't help but notice Benedict and Richard's handshake. They don't differ at all, both strong and pronounced hands, muscles tensing. They're not in competition, but genuinely willing to get to know each other.

"Nice to meet you again, Benedict."

"And you, Richard." Nat and I exchange quick, smiling glances. It looks like she approves of him, but I can't know for definite.

"This is my wife, Nathalie,"

"Great to finally meet you." The small talk continues for a while, but after our food arrives, Benedict and Richard delve into topical conversation.

"He's wonderful,"

"Don't you recall someone using that same word? Oh, it was I," Nat laughs.

"He's perfect for you." This is a true compliment. It takes a lot for my sister to compliment anyone, let alone say that they're perfect. I beam.

"Thank you."

"I saw the news in a magazine, but I didn't realise it was you."

"I wanted to surprise you. I wanted you two to meet him in person."

"Seems rightly so." I overhear 'Ian McKellen' in their conversation.

"What is he like to you at home? Any quarrels?"

"No. He's amazing, Nat. We dance, we laugh, play the piano."

"It sounds like you're having a good time. How's work?"

"It's good. I've got a weekly column."

"I've told you, you should be editing that thing by now. You're so talented."

"I don't want to edit. I want to write, honestly, and not corporately."

"Whatever you want to do, I know you can do it."

"Thanks Nat. It means a lot."

"What did you think of them?" I ask Ben in the taxi.

"They're fantastic. A real power couple." I laugh.

"How was Richard? It looked like you two got along well together."

"We did. He's a good man – we have similar opinions on things." I feel like he's avoiding the subject of age difference between Nat and Richard. I want to know what he thinks, but I don't know how to ask. It's something we need to discuss.

"Great. I'm glad you two got along."

"I had a laugh. And your sister's just how I expected her to be. Caring for you, protective. Elegant." He describes her exactly how I would, except missing the part out about how annoying and pestering she can be sometimes.

"I'm relieved that they approve of us. There's more than approval." He nods.

"I've… actually got a little present for you." I'm shocked, this was the last thing that I would expect.

He pulls out a long, rectangular box, and hands it to me. I lift the lid and a sheet of tissue paper. Underneath is a set of keys and a leather, circular shaped keyring with 'I.Q' engraved in gold. I flip over the keyring, and a photo of Benedict and I, from the night we met, is inserted into it. I'm so much younger, it feels like I've changed so much. I notice that my green dress perfectly matched my eyes, like Benedict had mentioned. In the picture, Benedict was holding my waist, dressed in suit and tie, his collar slightly creased. But the most perfect part was that we were together, and that his smile was so real, so like him.

"Now you can remember that night everytime you open the door. I hope… I hope you like it as much as I do,"

"Of course I do, I… I'm lost for words." This means that it's us now. I feel secure, like we're invincible together. And he had to choose that night!

I realise I'm blushing, and he puts his hand to my cheek.

"I do have one thing to say, though." His face welcomes my thought. "You're so perfect. Why are you so perfect?" I lean over to kiss his cheek.

"You haven't met my family yet." I laugh, and he wraps his hand around my shoulder, pulling me into his chest.

We remain quiet for a moment, our minds drifting off.

"Thank you… for the keys. It means a lot."

"You're mine now, and I wanted to let you know that." I smile, looking through the windscreen.

**Benedict's POV**

After a late dinner, I head to bed and pick up a book. Ayla stays downstairs for a moment, and after ten minutes, I hear the gentle playing of the piano. _Swan Lake._ Tchaikovsky. I attempt to concentrate on the words scattered on the pages, but my mind doesn't allow it. It's beautiful. Smooth phrasing, slowly played in parts, increasing in other sections. I've never heard it played quite like before. She continues, and after 5 minutes, I hear her improvise: twisting certain parts and putting them together, to create a whole other piece with familiar chords or melodies.

I debate whether to join her downstairs, but I realise that everyone needs alone time. Soon she arrives, and begins to change into nightwear. She approaches the bed in thin leggings and a white, figure-hugging vest.

Before I can start complimenting her on her excellent piano skills, she talks.

"What… do you think about my sister and Richard?"

"I told you… they're great."

"No, I mean about their age difference. The thought must've crossed your mind."

She sees right through me.

"It did, I have to be honest." I turn to face her, so that I can look her directly in the eye. "I don't think it's an issue. They're in love, and they're perfect for one another. Why should age matter?"

"I've always wondered. When he dies, she'll be alive for at least 15 years after him. How would someone, truly in love with that person, be able to cope?"

"I understand." I realise that she's talking more specifically about us. She's a good ten years younger than me. "I don't know what I would do. Life has to carry on."

Her face registers to be in concentration mode, processing what I've just said.

"Have you had many boyfriends that were older than you, considerably?" She laughs, but I don't see what's funny.

"Benedict, I never had a boyfriend before you. I mean, I had the primary school fling."

"Are you kidding?" I have to process this. "Are you saying that no handsome, intelligent man approached you and asked you for a drink or for dinner?"

"No, I just never entered a relationship with them. I never went for dinner with them, at the least." But she wasn't a virgin, before she met me.

"So, what happened with them?"

"What do you think happened?" I give her an unintentional disapproved face, full of hypocrisy. "Ben, it only happened twice, I promise."

"I'm sorry, it's just a bit of a surprise." There's an awkward pause. "Why did you do it?"

"The first time, I was in love with this boy. I didn't want to be, but I was really attracted to him. He was clever, boyish, and arrogant. At that time I was especially haughty, and I wanted to prove to him that I wasn't the nieve, young, nerdy girl that I quite obviously was. So, this older boy approached me at a party I really didn't want to be at, and my boredom and arrogance filled me. I led the boy up to a bedroom, watching _his_ eyes follow me up the stairs. It wasn't worth it, I obviously realise that now."

"What about the second time?"

"Do you really want to know? I mean, you won't judge me for what I did?" I shake my head.

"I went to a private club with my sister one night, and I don't remember exactly what happened – because I was pissed-" I laugh, "-but I woke up the next morning in a gigantic Chelsea house, with stag horns and fur carpets, and just walked out. I didn't even look under the duvet to see his face, I just got changed and left."

"That's kind of cool." She shakes her head, regretting what she'd done.

"I'm sorry. You… didn't expect that, did you?"

"I didn't. But we're human. We make mistakes."

"What about you? Have you had many girlfriends?"

"So so. One in fifth form, one for eight years after university, and one other."

"Why did they end?"

"Well, I don't really remember the one in fifth form. I remember that she pretty, and kind, but not very clever. I didn't mind her, but after a while I think she got a bit tedious. She dumped me, surprisingly, for her best friend."

"Well that's sweet. Maybe she had a long time liking for him. I always thought that the best love grows out of friendship."

"The second one… Olivia was normal. We studied Drama together at Manchester, and we stuck together. I would describe that relationship as… mediocre – she was more of a sister to me, someone I would tell all of my worries to. Don't get me wrong, we had a good decade, and I was sad when we split. But it was a long time coming, and we both knew it was over." I put my arm around the back of her neck and drape it along the side of her arm.

"The third one… was recent." I could tell what she was thinking. I was with Giselle for the period where I stopped writing to Ayla. "And it was a disaster. I can honestly tell you that I never loved her. I don't know why I stayed with her – my agent said she was good for me, but I think she almost ruined my career. She was controlling, demeaning, demanding. She had barely any respect for me."

"I saw her in a magazine with you." I flinch. Ayla shouldn't have seen that. "She was beautiful. Dressed in a wonderful dress that matched what you were wearing. You looked great together."

"I just left her. I walked out of her house and never came back. I thank myself everyday for having the strength to move on."

We lie in bed for the rest of our consciousness, absorbing the information we were just given, and what we had just revealed. It hurt a lot to tell her all of those things, but I know that in the end it will make us stronger.


	14. Chapter 14

**Benedict's POV**

**1 MONTH LATER**

I'm taking her to the premiere of Star Trek: Into Darkness, and she's wearing a dress that would look no more beautiful on any other woman. I scowl when she stands in front of the bathroom mirror with powder in her hand, but I know that I can't say anything. Instead I dress.

We make our way there in a black limousine, and her hands are shaking slightly. I hold them still, and feel her body relax. Jesus, the first time in front of the public eye, of course she's nervous. Obviously I know she shouldn't be, because she looks fucking gorgeous as she always does, and we're going to speed through the red carpet in case of any fan emergency or interviewers. But I also know she's excited: she's a Trekkie over Star Wars, and she told me that she grew up with the classic Enterprise series. I hope she likes it.

The vehicle stops, and I look over at her face. She's smiling, slightly faking it, but that might be because I've seen her real smile so much. The door is opened by a footman, and I step out, but ensure that I help Ayla out of the car. The screams begin and I hear accumulated gasps from fans. I hold her hand, and it's no longer shaking. She's shaken the fear off, or she's hiding it successfully. I look over to her face, beaming, this time truly, as she sees the posters adjourned with non-hatred and "Welcome Benedict's girlfriend!" or "Mystery girl?"

As we walk further down the red carpet, towards the brand-screens, she grips my hand tighter.

"Don't answer anything you don't want to,"

"That'll be everything then," she jokes. I greet a few interviewers, not as many as I usually would, and answer a couple of questions to each.

We arrive at the brand-screens, and the photographers begin their usual hassling. She smiles graciously, and although nervous, the camera seems quite natural to her. We walk off after a few photos are taken together, some with me and fellow castmembers, one of her and Zoe Saldana, and she nearly trips over a bunched up piece of carpet. The room is silenced, but she laughs and says "Oops!" and the entire room bursts into laughter. Wow, she's amazing. I don't see many people react so naturally to a potentially embarassing situation such as that, and she's still giggling when we enter the theatre.

We sit in a row with JJ and the main characters, and Ayla is seated between Zoe and I. After the small talk with everyone else, Zoe grabs her attention. Now they've been talking for what seems like hours. No one else can get to speak to Ayla, so my conversations are basically transfers: people trying to get to know about her through me.

The film begins, and everyone claps.

"I've never clapped in the cinema before, it feels strange," Ayla whispers. I laugh.

At the end, Zoe and Ayla exchange contact details. I know that they will be close. I loved making this film, and seeing everyone makes me see everyone's complete dedication and devotion towards it. Every one of us adores the franchise, and the final result was incredible. God, I'm going to miss everyone.

I meet more people, producers, soundtrack composers, congratulating everyone. I meet the visual director, Marcus, who the cast and JJ had been weary of during the filming. He took control over the entire set, changing our costumes or being slightly ignorant, like when he asked Alice Eve to lose weight because "it would make the size contrast more effective" or something like that. God, I wanted to punch him in the face.

We shake hands, and during the handshake, he's staring at Ayla like she's a toy.

I furrow my eyebrows in anger, cautious of what he's thinking.  
"Wasn't it great?" he proudly says, to me I think, but his eyes are still fixated on Ayla.

"It was. Congratulations,"

"For what? It was mediocre visually, don't you agree? Well, compared to my other films." God, I bet he says that every bloody time. Trying to big himself up.

"I thought it was enchanting visually," Ayla defends us from him, unaware that Marcus is the visual director, and is therefore giving him a compliment. Though I agree, he did a good job, just in a horrible way.

"Don't be ridiculous, darling. It was almost regretful." How dare he address her like that?! I attempt to hide my fury.

JJ catches my eye and calls me over.

"I'll be there in a moment!" I reply, taking Ayla's arm. "Well thank you again. We'd best be off."

"Hold on! I'll just have a chat with _Ayla_ here, whilst you speak to him." I begin to refuse, but JJ is coming over, and bodies are moving everywhere. Before I know it, Ayla's several feet away.

"Benedict, wow. Wasn't it spectacular? You were awesome, as I knew you'd be."

**Ayla's POV**

I catch Benedict's eye as we're whisked away from each other. I begin to walk towards him, but the man we were just speaking to shouts over the thunderous noise.

"I know you. Oh, how could I ever forget that face?" He's not looking at my face though, he's burning his stare through my clothes. I redden, with embarrassment, with anger. I glance over in Benedict's direction, asking for help, but I don't see him.  
"Oh yes. You were wonderful my sweetheart. We had a great night, one of the best nights of my life." I'm still confused. What is he talking about? But then it hits me: it was him that lay under the blankets, the face I'd happily forgotten.

"But you left in the morning, didn't you?" He takes my wrist tightly, his grimy fingernails cutting into my skin. "You didn't kiss me goodbye. Shall we finish that now? Come on, babydoll. He's not looking." His head advances, and I pull away, struggling to break free. I glance over at Benedict, but there are more people now than ever. He's getting too close, invading my space, and I start to panic.

My breathing quickens, my head throbs.

Before I can register change, I feel a body move between me and the man, separating us. His hand is still latched onto my wrist, and my skin's broken. I close my eyes, dizzy.

I'm swept away, my wrist in moderate pain, and hurried out, into the cold, back into the heat, and out again, finding myself sat on a leather seat.

I open my eyes again, and I can just make out blood dripping from my wrist onto a piece of cotton, and cold tears paving their way down my face. I look over to a dark-skinned hand, treating my cuts, and work my eyes up to a familiar face.

Zoe. Zoe took me from that man.

"Are you okay?" She's finished tending to me, and wraps her arms around me. She lets me go and dots my face with a tissue. I realise that I'm still crying and shaking.

"Ssh, ssh, everything's fine. You're safe."

"Benedict," I find myself straining my voice to make out his name.

"Oh, I forgot. I'll phone him." I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself down.

"Hello, Benedict?" Zoe's voice is urgent. "I've got her. Yup, she's with me. I'm going to take her to my hotel room and make sure she's okay." She nods, though she's on the phone. "Yes, yes. Of course. I'm staying at Claridge's. Yep. Sure. That should be fine." I stare out of the window, my face reflecting in the glass. I'm not red whatsoever, actually very white, but I feel like my blood is the temperature of magma, heating my face like a volcano about to erupt. "She's safe. I have security. She's safe." I notice a chauffeur and a bulky man sitting adjacent to him in the front of the car. I'm worried about Benedict. "Bye."

Does he know who that man is? Do I want him to know?

"Ayla, we're going to get him. It's going to be perfectly fine." I nod, and we arrive at the hotel.

I'm sitting in her hotel room, in an armchair by the window. Zoe has given me a glass of water and a bar of chocolate, but I haven't touched either. I watch her pace up and down the room, occasionally picking up ornaments and studying them, before quickly setting them down again.

The phone rings, and she scrambles to answer.

"Yes. Yes. Let him come up, for tripe's sake." She muffles the receiving end of the phone with her hand and asks: "Do you want any tea?" I nod, and picks up the phone again. "Could we also have a pot of tea? Ta."

When Benedict arrives, he gets over to me in a flash and picks me up, my legs dangling over one muscular arm. He kisses my face and my hair, and I can't focus on anything but his strong, dark eyes, searching mine.

I'm now sitting cross-legged on the queen-size bed, melting a piece of chocolate in my mouth, listening to Zoe and Benedict chattering away.

"I hated that guy from the start,"

"So did I," Zoe agrees.

"Pete says he'll file a restraining order. It's bloody disgusting. It's disgusting. Why on earth did I leave you?"

"It wasn't your fault," I interject, calm now.

"It was. I knew there was something more about him. God dammit. Thank you Zoe, you're amazing. Jesus, if you hadn't been there-"

"Let's not talk about that." Zoe interrupts. "You need to calm down Ben."

"If I had him now…" he looks over to me. "God, I'm sorry." His voice is softer, more natural, and he walks over, taking me in his arms. It's ridiculous how safe I feel here.


	15. Chapter 15

**Ayla's POV**

Over the next few weeks, I see Benedict become more protective over me than I'd ever imagine. Nevertheless, I spend time looking at tweets on Twitter, and reading mail that has come through to Pete's agency, addressed to me. Letters giving me compliments, and how when I tripped I reacted in a "down-to-earth manner" or "humorously". Apparently I've "inspired" people. I don't know how I possibly did that, but I'll take it.

They also say lovely things like: "You're perfect for Benedict" or "I couldn't have imagined anyone better for him than you", and even 'fan-fiction' has been written about me. Hilarious. I desperately want to write back, but Pete advises against it. He says that in any interviews I do, I can answer honestly to questions about Benedict and I, but just not replying individually to people, as it can "create havoc" according to him. But he's done an amazing job with Benedict, so I'm not going to even think about contradicting his advice.

It is quite annoying, however, knowing that there are people out there who have taken time out of their daily lives to address me, personally, and that I can't return the favour.

"Hello, how are you?" Benedict's voice echoes the room perfectly, and he comes up behind me, holding my waist. My head leans back into his chest.

"Good," his hand trickles over mine and he places his hand on the mousekey, scrolling through the timeline dedicated to 'Ayla-Benedict'.

"You honestly don't mind this?"

"Not at all. I haven't seen one horrible message."

"Good. I'm glad." I see his smile in the reflection of the fridge. There's a silence, and he kisses my hair. "Oh I almost forgot. Do you want to go to my nephew's birthday party? We were invited by my sister,"

"Of course. That's sounds great," I genuinely want to go. It would be great to meet any part of his family. I'm sure they're perfect, just like him.

"Great," he repeats.


	16. Chapter 16

**Ayla's POV**

**FOUR DAYS LATER - SOMERSET**

We arrive in Benedict's Jaguar, the car driving onto a stony driveway, fields rolling in the distance. Multi-coloured balloons are placed either side of the red door, an entrance to the beautiful white house. The sun is bright and high in a blue atmosphere, reminding me of Devon. This all reminds me of Devon.

"We're here," Benedict parks the car, and opens the door for me, just as I reach the handle.

"It's lovely,"

"They wanted a house in the country, to bring James up."

"It's the perfect childhood." I look down at the wrapping on the present I'm holding, blue, with silver engraved '4's dotted around it. We got him a photo album with a wooden cover, his name engraved beautifully on the front.

I can't wait to meet him.

We walk over, Benedict's arm around my waist, and he knocks on the door.

A beautiful, rosy-cheeked woman, smile painting her face, opens it, engulfing Benedict in her arms.

"Oh, I've missed you!" Without a second glance at me, she hugs me too, just not as roughly. A little, ginger-haired boy, pops out beneath her arm, running through Benedict's legs and out again. Ben scoops him up into his arms, and my smile does not leave my face. We walk in, and she closes the door behind us.

"You must be Ayla. Gosh, you're more beautiful than he described. I'm Julie, nice to meet you, finally!" She kisses my face. A taller man appears out of the blue, circular glasses adjourning his face.

"I'm Ayla," I stretch out my hand.

"I'm Ross, pleased to meet you," I smile, and look around my surroundings.

"Thank you for inviting me,"

"It's not them you should be thanking, it's me!" I turn around to see James, still in Benedict's arms. He puts him down, and I crouch down, holding out my hand.

"I apologise. Thank you James, and Happy 4th Birthday." I say, still smiling, and hand him his present.

"Thank you…?" he tilts his head, comically.

"…Ayla. How have you enjoyed your birthday so far?"

"It's been great! Dad got jelly!"

"I have to admit, I love jelly and icecream. Do you have anything of that?"

"Yeah! We've got icecream too! But we need to eat sandwiches first!"

"Okay then," I stand up, and Benedict takes my hand. We follow James into their living room, cosy and perfect, and full of children.

"It's magical here, isn't it?" Ben says.

"It is. It's exactly like Devon." He smiles his infectious smile.

"James loves you already. We should have put a photo of us in the book as well."

"We can let him decide that." I wink.

Kids run past us, flower dresses and corduroy jeans in miniature sizes.

I look up, and Julie is walking into the room.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Yes, please," Ben and I say in unison.

"God, you two are so alike it's creepy." We laugh.

"So how did you two meet?"

"You already know, Julie," Ben drones.

"I know, I just want to hear it again and again,"

"At a party. She was spinning on the dancefloor, and she looked like she was about to fall. I left my table and caught her in my arms. We talked."

"Oh come on, the real version!"

"You've heard it so many times."

"Okay, how about from your perspective Ayla?"

"Well, I was at the party with my sister and her husband, about 17 years old, and I was bored. I went onto the dancefloor, trying to hide behind people, and I thought I'd put my ballet lessons to use. Obviously, I wasn't very successful in ballet, a) because I'm not a ballerina, and b) because my pirouette was turning into a potential heap on the floor. So I kept spinning, not knowing how to stop, and I start to fall.

I'm thinking: "I'm going to embarrass myself in front of dozens of amazing people," and before I know it, someone's arms are around me. I look up, and it's Benedict. And because he's drop-dead gorgeous, I'm lost for words. But the he speaks, and my body melts. Have you noticed that your brother has the most incredible voice? Jesus.

"Then we talked for hours and hours, until even the waiters have left. We talk about everything: life, the afterlife, just everything, but then he gets up to leave. I'm upset, and he hands me this napkin with blue ink staining the fibres. I was pretty annoyed at the fact that he didn't give me his phone number, just a postcode, but also overwhelmed that this amazing, extraordinary guy, didn't want to forget me. That's not a regular thing for me."

"Better. But still not the full version. Like how Ben says the little details, like how your dress matched your eyes, and you blushed when he gave you a compliment. Oh… so romantic. You two are perfect." I beam, pleased that she's approved of us.

"Shut up Julie." Ben teases.

"I tend to ignore my brother. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have my older sister, but that's about it."

"Parents?"

"No…" Benedict casts a look at Julie. "…just my sister and her husband. They were like parents to me."

"I see. I'm sorry for asking,"

"No worries. How are your parents?"

"Benedict! She hasn't met them yet, has she?" Ben bites his lip. "God, she's been in newspapers with you and had her own hashtag, and you haven't introduced her to our bloody parents!"

"Look Julie, I was going to do it soon. Promise."

"I shouldn't have to tell you."

"I know. I don't have any excuses."

"That's right, you don't." Julie smiles at me, and I hold in laughter.

"Anyway, how's James doing with school? Musical instruments?"

"Well, he hasn't started primary school yet, and we tried piano but his fingers don't stretch far enough yet."

"OK, make sure you start as soon as possible." The family likes to start early, it seems. I only started at eleven, and I thought that was relatively early.

Later on in the evening, Benedict takes me on a walk across the acres of land that Julie and Ross own. The sun is just setting, my favourite time of day, and the landscape is soaking up the last, glistening rays before night draws in.

We walk for a while, not talking, but thinking. It must have been half an hour before anyone spoke.

"I love you," Benedict barely whispers. I listen to his sentence repeatedly in my head, feeling the impact. "I love you." He says again, like he's testing the words. We've known each other for almost eight years now, and been with one another for a little less than three months. It feels like both a long time, and an impeccably short time. "I love you." It also occurs to me that Benedict chooses who he loves wisely, rarely, yet instinctively. He chose to follow his instincts and be with his first girlfriend, his second girlfriend, his third girlfriend, and his fourth girlfriend. He chooses to love his friends, his peers, his fellow castmembers. He chooses to love his family, though he was brought up with them by his side.

"I love you."

Yet I cannot choose whom to love. I don't want that kind of responsibility, that emotional attachment to someone. To have to feel something for that person after they've gone, or when they've been hurt. I don't choose to love Nathalie or Richard. I don't choose to love Benedict. But I love them anyway, and it petrifies me to think that one day, they might get hurt. One day, they'll leave me.

What will I do when they're gone? What would be the purpose of my life then? I would have none. No one to talk to. No one to share the rest of my life, the highs and lows of every day with. When they leave, they'll take my soul with them.

"Ayla Quentinson, I love you." He loves _me_; do you hear him say that?

"I love you." And the world had never heard me say that before him. The world was certain that I could never love again.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He's saying that to me. No, this cannot be reality. He's not just choosing to love me, but to be with me for the rest of his waking days.

"I want to grow old with you, listen to the Beatles and dance with you." This means so much. All of my life I've dreamt of this. I always thought – no, _knew_ – that I was incapable.

"I want to have children with you. I want parts of us to grow up and out into the world, making it a better place." This is what I had always wanted for myself, for the rest of my generation and those to come. Now, there's a possibility that I, and Benedict, can do it together. As one being.

"I want to see us love together, laugh together, fight together, and cry together. That's all I want. I don't need to ask for more." Crying, fighting, laughing and loving as 'us' is more than I can imagine.

"I love you, Benedict Cumberbatch." I don't speak louder than a whisper, but it feels like the landscape's absorbed the soundwaves and they can't stop.

It's causing floods and waves around us, the ground can't take much more.

It feels like my unavoidable love for him is more powerful than the sun's rays.

He lowers himself onto one knee, the fading sunlight catching his perfect, ginger hair. The ground's almost giving away to what he's about to do.

I don't know how to react. This has all been a dream and I'm focusing on the moment, not the next few seconds.

"Ayla Quentinson. I have known you for eight years of my life. The previous twenty-nine have no meaning to me anymore, and having you in my life…"

He stops. I feel as if my lungs have been punctured, my stomach shot. He's reconsidering.

"… I was alone, I took a ride, I didn't know what I would find there…" He's singing the Beatles to me, his beautiful voice bringing both agony and desire.

"Another road, where maybe I could see another kind of mind there… " I smile, and his smile causes those little crinkles to appear beside his eyes.

"Ooh, and I suddenly see you. Ooh, did I tell you I need you? Every single day of my life? You didn't run, you didn't lie… you knew I wanted just to hold you…

Had you gone, you knew in time we'd meet again - for I had told you…

Ooh, you were meant to be near me! Ooh, and I want you to hear me, say: 'we'll be together every day…'"

I'm laughing quietly at his serenade. He's not singing loudly, but softly, holding my hand.

The words fit perfectly. And God, I don't want to think about what's coming next. The sunlight's leaving us at a quicker rate than ever, and his ginger hair is beginning to lose its shine.

He kisses my knuckles, and his lips leave the scorching imprint once again.

"Ayla Quentinson, will you marry me?"

"Benedict Cumberbatch…" I'm not thinking about my answer – that is a decision already made, involuntarily, like loving him. No, instead I want to stay in this moment forever. I'm trying to make it last as long as possible, but I soon realise that is an impossible dream.

So I reply, and he takes me into his arms, carrying me.

"Thank God, I nearly lost my way for a second or two. I thought you were reconsidering."

There's only one word I can say right now. "Ditto."

The next day, we need to leave as Benedict flies off in a couple of days to start filming. We bid farewell to Julie, Ross and James, and I bid farewell to their wonderful home and the countryside. I want to be as welcoming and lovely as they have been. James is such a bright child, and so gentleman-like.

He gives me a handshake, but it quickly evolves into a hug, and it is only now that I feel like part of the family.

"Okay so heres the plan," Julie murmurs close to me, whilst Ross and Benedict laugh. "1. Benedict will arrange something with our parents. 2. You lay hints at meeting our parents. 3. I ring our parents and casually include the fact that Benedict has a new girlfriend, and let the cookies crumble where they may, or 4. I post them a newspaper including a photo or interview depicting or describing your relationship."

I laugh. "Probably best to stray away from options three and four." She nods. "I'll try my best."

"I like you," she smiles. "I like you a good deal, Ayla." I smile. "I hope he sticks with you." I desperately want to tell her about the engagement, but we've decided not to tell them just yet.

"So do I!"

We say our _final _goodbyes, and head back home.


	17. Chapter 17

**Ayla's POV**

Today, Benedict jets off to do a readthrough of The Imitation Game in Manchester. I took this opportunity to visit my sister's house, whilst Richard is also away.

When I walk through the door, the familiar smell that surrounded me during the majority of my adolescence welcomes me in. It feels like home.

My sister rushes down the stairs in a shirt and pants.

"God, I'm so sorry! I woke up late – well about 10 minutes ago – and so I'm not fully ready!" I laugh, I've seen my sister in this state thousands of times, and I'm not fussed.

"Go get ready then!" I smile. She follows my orders and sprints up the stairs, and I follow close behind. When I get to the kitchen/living area, she's getting into jeans, and walking around barefoot.

"Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Please," It's hilarious watching her juggle so many things at once, but I decide to stop laughing and help her out. I boil the kettle.

"So, how've you been? I haven't heard from you in a while."

"I last spoke to you three days ago. I went to stay with Benedict's sister and brother-in-law in Somerset."

"Sounds wonderful! And nice weather for it too!"

"Yes, it was lovely," I say, looking back on the walk. "How about you?"

"You know, the usual. Still working on that PhD." My sister is a photographer, and is currently studying for her PhD in Fine Art, or has been for the last three years.

"Good. Keep working at it!"

"So why did you come?"

"Well, to see you of course. But specifically for something else…" Butterflies compile in my stomach. I know she'll be happy for me, but I'm still worried about her initial reaction.

"What? What?" I love it when she's excited. She's more like my playful older sister again, rather than a motherly one.

"You're going to need to sit down for this. We'll wait for the tea." I look to the kettle, and it's finished boiling. I think I'm going to be sick.

"Well, it's done!" She knocks together two cups of tea in less than three seconds, and almost runs over to the sofa. She pats the seat beside her, as to welcome me next to her. No, really, I think I'm going to throw up. I can tell she knows what's coming.

I told her what happened before he proposed. The large smile adjourning her face did not leave.

"He sang me 'Got to Get You Into My Life', Nathalie. I was kinda starstruck – it came out of nowhere."

She grips my hand.

"When I was younger, I used to listen to all types of music constantly. Rock, punk, electronic, pop, jazz, classical… Nearly every single one of them had lyrics that I thought I understood. And you know how they say: 'When you fall in love, the lyrics start to make sense?' Well, I thought I knew what they meant. I was arrogant and believed that my interpretations were the right, the correct ones. But when he sang those words to me, I thought of the many times that I had listened to that song, and how many times I thought I got it right. When he sang that song, it applied to us. Perfectly, and accurately.

"I knew what was coming." Nat squeezes my hand tighter than I thought was possible for a human. "He got down on one knee, and proposed to me."

"YOU'RE ENGAGED, AYLA!" Nathalie stands up, screaming out the words. "God, you were so young, so pretty and clever and perfect! And now you're an adult! And impossibly more beautiful and intelligent!" She calms down a bit. "You two are perfect. Simply perfect." Tears stream down her face. "Mother and Father would be so proud." I hug her before I start to tear up, as well.

"Thank you."

"When is the press going to know?" My heart climbs up my throat.

"I'm not sure. God, it's so difficult."

"I know. Everything in life has a price, even the man of your dreams."

"I often wish they would disappear, that it would just be me and him, and our family."

"I don't blame you. You're not the kind of person that can cope well with the media, either."

"I know."

"How was his sister? Nice?"

"Amazing. Her husband was great too. They have a child, James, who is bright and brilliant. A special family."

"I'm glad. You need a family."

"I want a bigger one, but I don't need one. I have you. You and Benedict are all I need."

"I'm so glad to have you. I wouldn't be able to survive."

I laugh. "Neither."

**Benedict's POV**

This is eating me up.

Peter's going to… I don't know what he's going to do. This is going to be tougher than I anticipated. The fans and the press are going to burst into chaos.

I wish we had more time. More time for her to meet my friends, the people I work with and love. Some of them will have to wait, but I know that they'll all love her.

I'm on the aeroplane back to London, worrying about her.

We just had the readthrough, and of course it went great, and I'm really excited to get to the next step of production. I'm going to love this film.

She's there, on the sofa, drinking water and watching Doctor Who. She stands and turns around to see me.

"Hello, I missed you." She greets me with a kiss.

"I missed you too. It was great, really fun."

"Good, I'm pleased. I saw my sister today."

"Good, did you tell her?" She nods. "What did she think?" I take Ayla's water bottle and sip.

"Nat was over the moon, she's incredibly excited… but worried… about the press. What's going to happen, Benedict?"

"I'll talk to Peter tomorrow. You know, he's the best agent I've ever had – we're in safe hands."

"I trust him, and I trust you." I plant a kiss on her cheek, cold as always.

"What time do you finish work tomorrow?"

"Around five. And yourself?" I have to check my schedule.

"Three."

"Okay."

"Let's not worry about work. Come with me," I welcome her upstairs. She laughs.

"You're the one who mentioned it. Are you going to leave me alone in bed tomorrow morning?"

"No, but you'll leave me." I pull a puppy-dog sad face.

"No can do, I've got to go in tomorrow. No good sending my columns via email – I've actually got to do some work."

"Okay, have it your way. Just think of me, lying in bed, naked, whilst you take a taxi to work." She blushes. "Think of me, showering in hot water, as you enter your office."

She places a finger to my lips. "Shut up, I want you."

I scoop her up into my arms.


	18. Chapter 18

**Ayla's POV**

Since I can remember, I've always wanted to write.

As I got older, and more pressure from home and school pushed down on me, I began to realise how hard it would be to live my dream.

To become a novelist.

So I headed into the world of publishing for a while, but that didn't work out.

Then it was journalism: a tough and threatening industry that I didn't want to be a part of in my early twenties. But I applied, and got the job. I took it because it was my only possible way into my dream, and I didn't want to let my only chance go.

Now I've grown into it, like anyone would if they did something 24/7. Doesn't mean I like it, but it's all I've got.

Mr E calls me into his office, as he always does.

As he talks, I look into his eyes, not paying attention to the words that come out of his mouth.

He was the person that hired me all those years ago. I should be more grateful for what he's done for me, but I'm not. I get the impression that he doesn't want to be here; he wants to be living the dream in Hawaii or something like that.

He's only young, maybe early 40's. He might have worked his way up the ladder, but I doubt it. He was bought into this. He craves power and authority.

Nonetheless, I nod to him and leave when asked.

The atmosphere around here was never pleasant, but I got along with it. Harriet made things easier. There were good days and memories made with her.

I would miss her if she ever were to leave this place.

When I was working at Penguin, I was crowded by adults, mainly people that were elitist and unrespondent to me. Although I was surrounded by books, new and old and brilliant books, I looked forward to home.

Nathalie once said to me: "If you're not happy doing something, stop doing it."

Then Richard answered: "But there are some things in life which you must do, whether you like doing it or not."

Maybe this job will get me to other places. Perhaps tomorrow I'll meet the best publisher there is, and they'll make my books public, something to read.

Yes, I've got to stick with this.

I get a text from Benedict.

"Are you finished?" I look at the time on my wall clock. "Meet me outside. X"

I bid farewell to Harriet and others, taking my handbag and walking down to the lift. When I go through the revolving doors, I see Benedict waiting, wearing his sunglasses, through the glass. I smile, stepping out with pride.

He takes me into his arms. "What are you doing here?" I ask, kissing his cheek.

"Wait and see." He opens the Jaguar's door for me, and I sit, patiently.

We park in a quiet street, adjacent to Bond Street. He hasn't said a word.

As we walk down the road, I take his hand, curiosity collating in my brain. I examine his facial expressions. Normal.

We walk into Cartier.

"What's going on?" I ask, even though I know what's happening.

"I didn't give you a ring, did I?"

A footman greets us inside. "Good afternoon," Benedict nods toward him.

A woman at a desk calls us over. 'Did you book an appointment with us today?"

"Yes, under Cumberbatch."

"Great name." She peers at the computer in front of her, diamond earrings drooping down as she bends her head. "Ah, yes. Go ahead, please."

We walk towards the main room, where a couple of women are either organising files or travelling to other rooms.

"I want you to choose what you want." Benedict's voice radiates throughout the room, and he leads me towards the glass and wooden cabinets.

"There's so many, I could hardly pick on my own..." My finger traces the wooden panelling on the sides bordering the glittering glass.

I see several rings that are bulging with diamonds, which look heavy and hard on the eye. My fingers also trace delicate, beautifully crafted bands with crystals incased onto them.

A ring - platinum edges adjoining diamonds, that ring around it toward the top where a beautiful diamond glistens - catches my eye imperceptibly.

"Can she try on this one please?" A woman dressed in uniform and diamond earrings hurrily walks over to us at pace.

"Of course, the Ballerine Solitaire?" She points to my ring. Benedict nods.

"Fitting," he nudges me. I blush, remembering my awful dancing that night.

The woman unlocks the cabinet, carefully handling the ring.

She places it between my fingers, and I slip it onto my finger. Too big.

"I'll get a smaller size for you, miss." She walks off into another room.

"I was looking at that one too, it's beautiful." I smile. "Just right for you."

We walk out into the cold air.

"Thank you," I whisper, kissing him.

"Let's go to Daunt's."

**Benedict's POV**

Here, I want to do it right. I don't know what came over me to do it at Julie's, but I did it, and I don't think she minded, and I don't think it mattered.

I left the bag in the car, but took the box with the ring inside. We walk down to the American classics section, where we met for the second time, and she starts to flick through Tolstoy.

I pick up Anna Karenina, and I flick to a random chapter that I recall reading once. I step up onto the wooden stairs, and watch her, waiting for the right moment. Her eyebrows furrow, concentrating on whatever it is she's reading.

"He stepped down," I take a step down, watching her face, "trying not to look long at her as if she were the sun, yet he saw her," she turns around to see me stooping on one knee, "like the sun," I drop the book and take out the box from my back pocket, "even without looking." Her smile hasn't left her face since we entered the jewellers'.

"My whole world, my moon, my galaxy, my universe, my burning cold sun… will you marry me?" I lift the box open, and the light hits the diamonds, but all I can do is avert my eyes back to her face.

"And you are God," she replies surprisingly, "ruling the world, the moon, the galaxy, the universe and your sun. I have said yes, and I've realised that there is no possible way to say no to you and your words. You and your words…" She shakes her head, and strokes the laugh lines beside my right eye. "You and your smile…"


	19. Chapter 19

**Ayla's POV**

**TWO DAYS LATER**

After Benedict proposed for the second time, I finally took a stand on meeting his parents. He guiltily agreed, and then phoned them, pretty much straight afterward. Today, he's taking me to his childhood home in Middlesex.

We drive in the Jaguar, him dressed in a beautiful blue shirt and new leather shoes, and myself in a navy two piece dress.

We play Bob Dylan on the car stereo, and it reminds me of my childhood – listening to his raspy voice when my father picked me up from school. Appropriate.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling fine, how about you?" I change my line of sight from the window and London scenery to Benedict, his tall, statutory figure comforting me.

"Excited. But what are you thinking?"

"How beautiful and nostalgic this song is. How lucky I am to live in London. How beautiful you are." His worried expression quickly transforms into a smile, his perfect smile. "What are you thinking about?"

"Your meeting with my parents. I know it will be great, but you're my fiancee and I can't help but be a little concerned." _Fiancèe. _That's the first time I heard either of us say that. I'm slightly startled.

"I'm… honoured. I'm honoured to meet your parents. I can't wait."

"Neither can I." And it seems that he really could not wait, as he increases acceleration and holds my hand, his other holding the steering wheel.

Encased, and covered. Warmth excedes and burns my skin, does he notice the iciness of my hand? He must.

I touch his left hand with my eyes, taking in each particle of his. They're large, and long, and slender. I can see his veins, and I feel his pulse against my wrist.

Normal, steady, yet mine is arrhytmic and fast. Does he notice the physical attraction I hold to him? He must, he must.

After dinner, we converse for a while, and I'm surprised by how protective, yet polite, his parents are over him. They want to know everything about me, I presume to assure themselves that he's made the right choice.

"Where did you grow up?" "Where did you go to school?" "What were your grades like?" "What did you do in your spare time?" "Who were your friends? Are you still in contact with them?" "What was your favourite film?"

Oddly, I don't feel like they're being intrusive. They have a honest, parental, relatable feeling about them. Different from Nathalie.

It made me see Benedict for who he is… this was how he was raised.

In a tightly-knit, safe, warmhearted home.

Do his parents think that a girl from a strange, bright, atmospheric house would be right for their wonderful son? Because I no longer know what I would do without Benedict in my life, and I cannot refuse to leave if they told me so.

During a rare moment of silence, I irredeemingly blurt out a change in conversation. Perhaps I did it to prove to them that I had something inside me, something to show that I could be sufficient for Ben.

"My father read to me every night as a child." I don't know how that served its purpose.

"I too, read to Benedict, as much as I could. He never wanted me to close the book." His father smiles, and his mother and Ben follow suit.

"What did he read to you?" His mothers beautiful trill asks.

"Everything… I distinctly remember Golding, Twain, Tolkien."

"Tolkien was my favourite to read to him," his father replies. "His eyes would become insenuated with fascination. It was the joy of my day."

My heart lightens. He's like a sane version of my own father.

**Benedict's POV**

"They love you." I kiss her as we leave the house.

"They do not. I believe they approve of me, love is attained later."

"Love was attained now. It was the parental version of love at first sight."

She beams, and wraps her arm around me.

"I love them. They're beautiful and clever and perfect. Just how I imagined them to be I suppose!"

"I thought love was attained later,"

"It's a parental love at first sight."

"How's work?" I ask as I unbutton my shirt, and she stands millimetres away from me. I'm trying to distract myself from her half-naked body.

"Um… you know, it's work I suppose." She's trying hard to hide what she's truly feeling, whilst telling the truth. I know how to do that, but I'm an actor, and she is not.

I watch her sit on the bed, a loose t-shirt and underwear, crossing her long legs over each other. She fiddles with the fabric of the duvet as I finish dressing.

I follow her movements, copying them exactly. I face her, place my hands around her head and move it towards my face.

Our lips meet and I enter heaven.

"Tell me what's happening at work?"

She sighs. "I don't want to be stuck doing something that I don't want to do anymore. I'm not getting anywhere there."

"But you're incredibly successful. You're working at the Guardian, for god's sake."

I pick a loose strand of her golden hair, and twirl it around my finger. She's so deep in thought I don't think she notices.

"Benedict, ever since I read my first book on my own, I knew I wanted to write. More than anything." _And you are_, I want to say. "But I wanted to create stories, stories that would captivate children and take teenagers into different worlds, to escape their future for awhile. I don't want to be stuck in a job that I don't like doing. Don't get me wrong, I like writing opinionated columns that might change the minds of people… but I want to go to work and have fun. To be with interesting people with interesting minds that I can benefit from."

A silence splits our conversation, allowing me to think.

I have a plan.


End file.
